


Domia abr Wyrda

by MidnightShadowWolf



Series: Inheritance Cycle Works [1]
Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Angst, Eventual Relationships, No Smut, Other, Slowburn (for eragon and arya), reversed roles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26957551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightShadowWolf/pseuds/MidnightShadowWolf
Summary: "He entered the tent after her. She was looking down at a scroll she held in her hands, and she appeared to be looking for something. She looked up as he entered. She dropped the scroll. Her eyes widened, and her expression became one of shock. The blood drained from her face. Her face ashen, she said in a choked voice no louder than a whisper, 'E-Eragon?'" Murtagh always says, "If our mother had chosen to put me in Carvahall instead of Eragon, then he would not have fared so well as I did." What if it were true? What if Eragon and Saphira had been the ones captured under Farthen Dur, not Murtagh? What if Arya had been the one captured by Eragon, not Nasuada having been captured by Murtagh? Spoilers for Eldest, Brisingr and Inheritance (NOTE: READ IF YOU ARE A FOLLOWER OF ME AND ARE WAITING FOR AN UPDATE FOR TOKKA WEEK 2020! Just read the notes though, you don't have to read the whole story unless you've read Eragon, Eldest, Brisingr, and Inheritance; in other words, the Inheritance Cycle)
Relationships: Arya Dröttningu/Eragon Shadeslayer, Murtagh Morzansson/Nasuada
Series: Inheritance Cycle Works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967212
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter I: Eragon

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I'm really, really sorry I haven't updated Tokka Week 2020 yet, it's just I've been really busy, and I STILL have writer's block! Anyways, I hope all of the Inheritance Cycle fans who read this enjoy it! ;) Cheers!

Eragon and Saphira had fought well in Farthen Dur, but it still wasn't enough. The Twins had brought them to Uru'baen, and the king had found their true names, and from there, their lives had been spent in utter misery. First the Battle of the Burning Plains, then the battle afterwards, where Murtagh and Thorn had bested them for the first time. His cheek still smarted from the blow the Murtagh had dealt him, even though the battle had happened nearly four weeks ago. When Galbatorix had found out about Murtagh killing four of his most useful and favoured servants, he had taken his anger out on Eragon and Saphira.

Eragon's brow furrowed angrily as he remembered the collection of new bruises he had to add to his old wounds from the Battle of the Burning Plains and the other battles he had participated in. When we capture him and Thorn...His thought trailed off. They have caused us so much pain, he growled in his mind to Saphira. Attempting to calm him, she replied There was naught we could do about it, little one. I know you are bitter over being captured, but you have done all you could to help the Varden on their mission by delivering Thorn's egg and giving Zar'roc to Murtagh. We have done all we can. I know you hate the black king, as do I. But there is naught that we could have done to prevent it. Muttering angrily, he got up off of his bed and flipped it. Letting out a shout of anger, he punched it as hard as he could. His hand went straight through the straw mattress and hit the stone wall behind it. His face contorting in a soundless howl, he kicked the wall in frustration. Grimacing horribly, he hopped on one foot while clutching his hand. "Waise heill," he muttered. OWWWW, he snarled. 

It's all right, little one. I'm here for you. He thought he could sense a measure of amusement behind those words, but he was in too much pain to care. He wished he had someone to talk to. You have me, little one. Saphira reminded him gently. Not you, not here, not now. I don't want to talk to you, Saphira. The hurt she felt from his rude statement was evident, but nonetheless, she withdrew from his mind. His guilt came crashing down over his anger, and he called out with his mind, Saphira! Saphira! Saphira, I'm trying to apologise. I'm sorry, I know I was rude, but to no avail. She was apparently too hurt to respond or acknowledge him. "Ugh! Whatever," he growled, frustrated.

He walked towards the door to the balcony to get some fresh air. I wish I could talk to Arya. She always seemed to understand what I was going through... He thought then of Arya. Her long black hair. Her piercing emerald eyes. Her beauty. Her skill with the blade. Her scent of crushed pine needles. Her melodious laugh. Her... her everything. His everything. He had seen ladies in Galbatorix's court, supposedly famed for their beauty, but they were not half so beautiful as Arya. She was the epitome of beauty. He just wished that she was there with him. Or, rather, that he was with her, for he never had and never would wish that she was here in the lair of the Oath-Breaker, the traitor, the black king of Uru'baen. I wish...I wish things could be different. I wish that I hadn't committed all those atrocities on the Battle of the Burning Plains. He remembered Hrothgar's dying expression as he sent the spell of death flying towards him. It was one of shock, for he had recognized Saphira's signature blue scales.

"Jierda!" he had cried, even though his guilt was eating him alive. For Hrothgar had done what no dwarven king ever had: he had embraced Eragon and adopted him into Durgrimst Ingeitum. He had made him a part of his own clan. Hrothgar was old, he reminded himself. Perhaps it was time for him to die. But then he remembered the wet squelch, the dry crack as Hrothgar's neck snapped. It's no use assaying my conscience with empty words, he snarled to himself. Little one? came Saphira's voice tentatively. He sighed. Yes, Saphira? Perhaps it would be best if you did not dwell upon such matters. The night is old, and we have much to do tomorrow. Come to bed, Eragon. You are tired and grumpy, she said, rather timidly. Perhaps you're right... he replied. He left the balcony and walked into his bedroom. He glanced over at the collapsed bed, then scowled and made his way over to Saphira. Saphira? Yes, little one? she replied gently. I'm sorry I said that to you. Can I sleep with you tonight? Of course. Rest well, little one.


	2. Chapter II: Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm SO SO sorry for this late update. I did NOT intend for it to be so long in between chapters! In the meantime, enjoy the chapter!

Arya surveyed the land to the west. The setting sun is beautiful. . . she thought. If only there were someone else to enjoy it with. Perhaps... maybe even... no. Thinking about him is too painful. As hard as she tried, she couldn't stop thinking of his warm, liquid, doe-brown eyes that were so honest and inviting. Or his rough, booming laugh. Or his friendly smile. Or his tousled brown hair. Or his openness with her. As much as she enjoyed the company of Murtagh, for he was a very educated and witty individual, and as much as she respected Thorn (he was a dragon, after all), they just weren't anything like him - Eragon. She had never met anyone quite like him. Then a voice hailed her and brought her back to the cold, harsh reality of their situation. "Arya!" Murtagh called. "Arya, Nasuada would like for you to meet her in the pavilion in fifteen minutes. What shall I tell her?" Without looking back, she replied, "You may tell her that I will be there when she asks." She heard him shuffle around awkwardly. "Anything else?" he asked, sounding as if he was trying to act casual, but failing. She turned, frowning. "No...why would there be anything else? I've already told you what to tell her."  
As she said the words, she noticed Murtagh was deliberately avoiding her gaze. Her frown deepened. "Murtagh," she snapped. She was rather disgruntled with him for interrupting her quiet time. Watching the sunset and the sunrise was an essential part of her day. Without it, she was as grouchy and grumpy as a hibernating bear. His eyes flashed back to her. "What?" he said, looking rather hurt. "I wasn't doing anything." "Pay attention to me! I told you, I will be there when she asks!" she said testily. "All right," he replied. He didn't move, which irritated Arya like an itch that wouldn't go away. "You can leave now," she told him bluntly. "You aren't needed here anymore." He flinched as though Arya had stung him. "Of course," he mumbled. "I will leave you now. . . .I am sorry for. . .disturbing you. I cry your pardon." Feeling slightly guilty, she watched him go but betrayed no emotion on her face.   
After a few minutes, she returned her gaze to the horizon but growled in disgust. The sun had set. Well, I suppose I'd best head to the pavilion to meet with Nasuada. There is naught that I can do now, except perhaps go to my tent and rest. But I am not tired, and I do not want to lose her goodwill towards me, so I will go. She ran down the small rise she was on and down to the camp. Hmm...maybe I'd better stop at my tent and grab my sword before I go. I don't want to ever be caught unarmed again, she thought, remembering the way she had felt defenseless when she was in Gil'ead. She shuddered with revulsion as she remembered the way Durza had tortured her, and the horrors he had inflicted upon her. She remembered dancing on the cusp of insanity, and how she had had hallucinations many times a day. And then, he had come. Eragon. A Rider. A Dragon Rider. And a majestic, beautiful sapphire dragon. Sometimes, it seemed so insane, that she had dreamed it all and was still in Gil'ead. All this went through her head as she altered her course so that she was heading southwest, towards her own tent. After retrieving her sword, Arya directed herself towards Nasuada's pavilion. When she got there, she was forced to wait outside while a page announced her presence. She surveyed the Nighthawks without much emotion. Just then, the page came back. "Lady Nasuada will see you now!" he announced flamboyantly. The guards flinched. Arya smirked. She knew that in a wizard's duel, or in any other duel for that matter, that their mistake would have cost them their lives. She walked past them, brushing the flaps at the entrance aside. She inclined her head to Nasuada. "Lady Nightstalker," she acknowledged, using the Urgals' name for her. She replied in kind, and after asking after her health and exchanging a few other pleasantries, she clapped her hands and dismissed the others that were in the tent, save Murtagh, Orrin, Orik, Nar Garzhvog, and Elva. Nasuada sighed. "At last, I'm afraid we must get to less pleasant matters, but those of far more importance. The elves," she said, addressing Arya. "Are they ready for battle? Are they ready to march down and assist us in our endeavor against the black king?" She nodded stiffly. "Aye. They are ready. They have already marched upon and conquered Ceunon."   
Nasuada looked surprised, then hid her emotions behind an impassive mask. "I see. That news is most heartening, for I had feared that we would have to march upon it ourselves. I only ask why I was not informed of this before." Arya nodded. That was only to be expected. "It was happening during the Battle of the Burning Plains, so I was only notified after the battle and have not had the chance to speak to you about it." Nasuada tipped her head in acknowledgment of her words. Hmm... it's rather odd that she didn't question my decisions more... no matter. "Now. Tell me. What is the state of the troops?" she said, suddenly businesslike. "I need to make my report to Islanzadi." Nasuada looked as though she would have preferred not to have this piece of information thrust upon her, but said, "Of course. I would expect nothing less from someone as refined as Islanzadi. Now, as to your question about the state of our troops, they are tired and bone-weary, but healthy as oxen. And I believe that the dwarves and Urgals are the same?" This was addressed to Orik and Nar Garzvhog. "Aye," answered Orik. "We are weary but ready for battle if the need arises." "The Urgralgra are ready and eager for battle," Garzvhog proclaimed. "Excellent. Then we will-" She was interrupted by a roar. Arya felt her blood chill. That roar didn't belong to Thorn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I just want to say again, I am SO SO SO SO SORRY. I really, really, REALLY try to update as regularly as possible, but I've been going through some hard stuff lately. I haven't been able to write quite as much lately. I've not been able to get much inspiration lately, and I think I have writer's block. Again, I'm terribly sorry for how short these chapters are :(


	3. Chapter III: Murtagh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm incredibly sorry about this delay on updates. Recently i've been bingewatching a heckin lot of anime, so i've been completely forgetting about updating.

Murtagh felt the blood drain from his face. Was that... Saphira? he asked Thorn in his mind. Aye! Beware if she escapes me. She is a ferocious beast of a dragon! came the reply. Despite his warning, Murtagh could sense his admiration for Saphira. He saw Thorn's perception of her in his mind's eye: a beautiful, glittering beast that killed with ease, and yet was as graceful as an elf in balance, speed, and performance. He ran out of the pavilion and into the rows and rows of identical gray tents. Only, they weren't so identical now. Over a third of them were charred outlines of the structures that they had been. Blast! he thought as Saphira flew over half the camp, torching a goodly portion of it. Where is Thorn when I need him? As if in response to his thought, Thorn swooped down and landed directly in front of him. "Good timing!" Murtagh called to him, speaking out loud so as to avoid getting their minds invaded. He blinked once in return. Once Murtagh was settled, and by unspoken consent, he took off after Saphira. As he got ever nearer to Saphira, the more Murtagh became confused.

He risked opening his mind to Thorn in order to say, I don't understand. Where is Eragon? He's not on Saphira's back. Surely she couldn't have come alone? He received no response, as Thorn was slowly, laboriously beginning to catch up to Saphira. Thorn tried to tackle her midair but failed as she did a complicated twist and evaded his outstretched talons. He tried again, this time with more success. He had misjudged his speed, however, and collided into Saphira with a whimper. The impact sent Murtagh soaring into space, for he had forgotten to secure his legs. As he tumbled, he thought he saw something on the ground. "Letta!" he barked, and jolted to a stop in midair. He inspected himself to make sure he was not hurt, then looked towards the ground. He saw a figure dressed in dark clothing, sneaking about the camp. He was heading towards the northern area of the camp, one of three segments of tents that weren't burned. Frowning, he decided he would deal with the mysterious figure himself. "Thverr undir!" he cried in the ancient language. He hit the ground running. He headed towards the figure in black. He realized that the figure had adjusted his course so that he was headed southwest instead of north. He sent his conscienceness towards the figure. He retreated in shock as the figure felt him, and, without turning around, blocked Murtagh from his mind with a mental attack of immense power. Using all his strength, Murtagh put on an extra burst of speed and sprinted towards the figure. He slipped past his guard, and with an adroit bit of footwork, trapped his sword beneath Zar'roc. The figure struggled, and something about the way he did so seemed familiar to Murtagh.

He took his free hand and ripped off the cap that the figure was wearing.   
"You!" he shouted into the night air. "Me," Eragon agreed as he shoved Murtagh down and rested the tip of his sword on Murtagh's neck. "You betrayed me," Murtagh growled. "Isn't that enough? Must you hold me at swordpoint whilst you threaten me and gloat?" Eragon laughed humorlessly. "You don't understand, brother. You see, I have somewhere to be tonight, so I won't fight you. However, when it comes to that, know that I will best you and take you to Uru'baen." He removed the sword from Murtagh's neck. "Until next time then, brother!" giving him a mock salute, he wrested his cap from Murtagh's grasp and placed it once more upon his head. Giving into his rage, Murtagh grabbed Zar'roc from where it lay and ran up behind Eragon, who had turned to go. Without pausing, Eragon swept his sword up in a high arc and disarmed Murtagh. His hand smarted. Zar'roc clattered to the ground. Eragon picked it up and examined it for a moment. "Hmm. I expected better from you, brother. But I suppose that's all you're capable of," he said noncommittally. "Well, I'd best be going now. Farewell, Brother. I'll see you again soon." And with that, he took Zar'roc and threw it into a clump of bushes that had somehow escaped being torched. With a final, mocking smile at Murtagh, he disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'll do my best to update soon, i promise!


	4. Chapter IV: Eragon

With a mocking smile, he turned from Murtagh to his target: the southwestern edge of the camp. He extended his mind so as to feel for her. There. Just a faint trace, but it was there. He softly heard the strains of the wild music of her mind, and quickly retreated, so she would not notice his presence. As much as he ached to stay there and join her in the wild melody and succumb to the captivating temptation, he had a mission to do, and he would do it well.

He moved quickly and silently through the camp, following her scent of crushed pine needles. He followed her to her tent, and watched from the shadows as she entered. Hesitating only for a moment, he entered the tent after her. She was looking down at a scroll she held in her hands, and she appeared to be looking for something. She looked up as he entered. She dropped the scroll. Her eyes widened, and her expression became one of shock. The blood drained from her face. Her face ashen, she said in a choked voice no louder than a whisper, "E-Eragon?"

He gazed at her for a moment. She was everything he remembered. Long black tresses as black as a raven's wing. Piercing emerald orbs. Graceful form. She was so close she couldn't stand it. All he wanted to do was gather her up in his arms and caress her. "Aye," he said hoarsely. "Aye, it's me. Eragon." Her eyes were filled with such wonder and joy, he wondered she didn't burst into tears that moment. "Eragon," she whispered again, this time with certainty. Her voice was filled with joy and happiness. In three steps, she covered the distance between them and threw her arms around Eragon in a bone-crushing hug. He hugged her just as tightly, and longed to close the distance between them, but refrained. "Oh Eragon," she whispered. "I've missed you so much." "I've missed you as well," he replied, equally soft. "Which is why I'm so sorry for this." She pulled back, frowning, and opened her mouth to ask something. And then, he hit her on the head as gently as possible and knocked her out. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her head fell onto his chest. Being as gentle as possible, he gathered her up in his arms and held her for a moment, gazing at her now-peaceful face as she dreamy, then took her outside the tent. He carried her to the outskirts of the camp and waited for Saphira to meet him, content to gaze at her face while he waited. There was a thud and a flapping of wings as she landed. Being as gentle as possible, he took Arya over to the majestic dragon and secured her to the saddle. He breathed a sigh. Now for Nasuada. He knew from the spies' reports that her pavilion was in the northern reaches of the camp. He directed his attention there, and went as quickly as possible, for they had tarried long enough. They had lost the element of surprise, which meant that soon, Murtagh would inform the rest of the Varden and they would send battalions of soldiers after him, and he didn't want to turn on any more of his former friends. He was as a shadow, moving like a phantom or specter. He was in his element.

As he neared the pavilion, he heard the murmur of voices, and said a spell in the ancient language to enhance his ears."...here in the camp, no one is safe. I want Stronghammer on this immediately. He's one of the best captains we have. He is cool in the face of danger, and does not panic like a chicken with it's head cut off when he hears stressing news. But where is Arya? She is sorely needed. Murtagh, would you do me a favor and go get her? We could use her experience on this matter." He heard the patter of footsteps as Murtagh exited the tent. He wanted to go in now, but knew he had to wait until Jormundur and the rest of the Council of Elders and Nasuada's generals left as well. At last, he heard her dismiss them all, and he quietly tiptoed closer to the entrance. When Jormundur had finally exited the pavilion, he crept inside, being careful to stay silent. Nasuada looked up as he entered, and called out, "Jormundur, I'm just fine! I don't need you checking in on me every five minutes!"

She frowned when she heard no response. "Hello?" she called. Eragon heard the snick of a blade being drawn. She crept around to the front of the desk she had been sitting at and looked around for the opener of the tent flap. "Hello?" she called yet again, trepidation in her voice. "Hello, Nasuada," Eragon said, standing. She jumped horribly, whirling around. "Eragon?" she breathed. "Aye," he said, but without much emotion. She looked like an animal caught in a trap; for Eragon had maneuvered himself so that when Nasuada came around the desk, she stood with her back to the desk, and his back faced the entrance. "H-how are y-you here?" she said. "I'm here," he said. "on Galbatorix's orders. And because Saphira brought me here." And without further ado, he twisted the knife she held from her grasp, and hit her on the head as he had with Arya. He walked out of the pavilion, still carrying Nasuada. "Hey!" came a shout from behind him. He didn't bother to turn around, and as a result, received a staggering blow to the back of his head. Dropping Nasuada, he gave a shout of pain. Whirling around, he saw Murtagh holding Zar'roc, and expression of wounded pride and rage upon his face. Hatred in his eyes, Eragon drew his own sword and dealt Murtagh many blows at a time, so many, in fact, that Murtagh was forced down on one knee.

"No!" he cried out. "I won't let you take her!" Eragon was startled enough that he abated his tirade on Murtagh for a moment. That moment was all Murtagh needed. He surged up, and dealt Eragon a blow so fierce, he was forced back a step-two steps, no, three steps. He was hard-pressed to defend himself now. Saphira! he called with his mind. I need you! Her roar was response enough. There were a series of loud thuds and then Saphira came over the rise she had been behind, waiting for him. He began to pepper Murtagh with blows, and now Murtagh was the one who was hard-pressed to defend himself. He dealt Murtagh one final blow, then clambered up onto Saphira, and quickly secured his legs. She immediately took off with him and Arya into the expanse of the night.


	5. Chapter V: Arya

Arya walked quickly through the camp, trying to get to her tent as quickly as possible. She had left the report from Islanzadi there, and she needed to get it to Nasuada so she could use it against Galbatorix. She frowned as she thought she felt a small twinge in the back of her mind. It's probably nothing... she thought, albeit uneasily. Oh well. If it's an enemy magician, then I think they'll find me a formidable opponent. She allowed herself a small smile as she imagined Eragon's expression as she attacked his mind during the first time they came into contact. Eragon... her thoughts were always turning to him now, in small, unbidden ways that sometimes startled even her. She didn't want to think of him now, though. It was too painful. Ah! Here we are, she thought with satisfaction as she came to her tent. As she entered, she thought she heard a small breath of wind after her. She thought, Oh, it's probably just wind created in my wake, like eddies in a river. She searched around her personal space, looking for the report. Aha! Is this it? she thought as she found a small scroll. She began to scan it, but before she could finish, she heard a noise by this entrance and looked up.

It was him.

Eragon. His long, muscular arms. His tousled brown hair. His eyes. His kind, beautiful, doe-brown eyes. She felt as if she was floating away. As if she was going to leave solid ground and float away unless she had something to anchor her. She felt the blood drain from her face, her eyes widen. She managed to choke out one word: "E-Eragon?" He gazed at her for a moment. She gazed back at him. Into his deep-brown eyes. However, she looked away within twenty seconds. She couldn't look at his eyes anymore. They were so tormented, there was so much guilt and self-loathing, that all she wanted to do was wrap him in her arms and hold him so he would lose that awful look. At last he said, "Aye. It's me, Eragon." And she stood for another moment, indecisive, but eventually, her feelings won out against her better judgement. She swayed, then covered the distance between them in three steps. She threw her arms around him. They stood like that for another moment, then she whispered in his ear, "Oh Eragon... I've missed you so much." He was silent for a moment. Then: "I've missed you as well.", just as soft. He wrapped his arms tighter around her. She shivered. He pulled her closer and breathed in her ear, "Which is why I'm so sorry for this." She frowned. What was that supposed to mean? She pulled back from their hug, her arms still around his neck. "What--" she began, but never finished. She felt a pain on the top of her head.

And then, thought and time ceased for her.


	6. Chapter VI: Nasuada

Nasuada woke to a loud banging noise. She blinked and sat up. She looked around. She was in her pavilion. She winced and put a hand to her head. It was so sore. She heard the banging noise again and looked around. It was Murtagh. He had apparently been banging his fist on the small table that she used to scan reports. "Murtagh?" she said blearily. He looked up and went beet red. "Uh...yes?" he stammered. She frowned. Why was he acting so weird? Then she looked down at herself and realized she was wearing nothing on her top half except a tightly-wound bandage around her chest. She went scarlet and quickly grabbed the thin sheet to cover herself. "W-Well, you're awake, I guess," Murtagh said awkwardly. "Yes, it would appear so," she replied after a moment of silence. He tried to smile and failed. "So," he said, deliberately avoiding her gaze. "Are you alright?" She frowned. "Yes," she answered, wondering what he meant. Why wouldn't she be alright? "I'm fine." He glanced up, then quickly averted his gaze. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Yes, Murtagh," she snapped. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He flinched. "Well, it's just, E-Eragon, he came late last night," he said lamely. "Yes, I know," she replied. "I remember." "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked urgently. "Did Eragon speak to you at all? Did he make any mention of Galbatorix, or the Empire?" Her frown deepened. "No, Murtagh. Why are you interrogating me in such a manner?" He grimaced. "Because I'm worried about you, Nasuada," he answered seriously. "Why?" she asked. "Because of last night. Eragon was rather rough with you," he responded ruefully. Now that he mentioned it, she did have some slight pain in her head, but it was so faint she hadn't noticed before. "I'm fine, Murtagh. I don't need you checking up on me every three minutes because you seem to think I'm incapable of defending myself," she snapped. Then, seeing how he recoiled at her words, she softened her tone. "I don't need you checking up on me so much, Murtagh. But I appreciate your concern, and I'm touched by it." He looked slightly mollified by her words, but said, "Nasuada, you can't keep ignoring the danger. As the leader of the Varden, you're constantly in danger. All I ask is that you remember that, and treat everyone with caution. The reason I'm like this, Nasuada, is because I care about you and count you among my closest friends and family, and would be proud to call you my kin. I don't want to lose you to some mad, harebrained scheme that could get you killed." Nasuada was taken aback with the extent of his care for her. She knew he regarded her with a certain liking, for he had told her many a time that she was a dear friend, but nothing to this extent.

She smiled uncertainly at him and looked down. "Thank you. . ." she murmured, glancing up. What she saw made her cheeks go flaming red. He was looking at her with such intensity, she felt as if she were a prize ox he was examining. When he realized what he was doing, however, he flushed and looked away. She wondered if it was possible to feel more embarrassed than she did right now. She soon found out the hard way: yes, she could get more embarrassed than she already was. 

She pretended to be interested in the woolen wall of the tent, but really she was looking at Murtagh. The way he smiled whenever Thorn was around. His intense reddish-brown eyes. His dark hair. His rippling muscles beneath his tan skin. She sighed. She couldn't wait until this mad venture of their's against the black king was over. Then she could finally try and do what she'd always wanted to do but never gotten the chance to. She could finally entertain what every girl dreams of: finding her perfect match, girly dreams and fantasies of romance. Of course, she already had someone who she would like to be with, but she wouldn't even begin to dream that he felt the same way about her. As she watched him, Murtagh slowly stood from the stool he had been sitting on. He walked over to her, slowly, deliberately. She whipped her head around towards him. He came over to her bedside and sat on the covers. He took off the glove he was wearing and placed his hand under her chin, lifting her head so that she met his gaze. Her breath hitched at the contact, and became short and shallow. He whispered to her, "Nasuada, I care about you, and I don't want to lose you. Now. . . if you don't mind, I'd like to do something that I should have done a long, long time ago." And with that, he pressed his mouth against hers.

She was too shocked to respond in any way except stare at him dumbly when he pulled back. He smiled sadly. "I knew you would look at me like that," he whispered, and stood. Just as he was turning to leave, Nasuada regained enough sense to grab his hand. He turned around, surprised. "Sit," was all Nasuada could manage. Still looking surprised, he obeyed. "I-I never thought you. . ." she began, but Murtagh forestalled her. "No. I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that this is unprecedented, and that this places you in a position of great difficulty. I'm sorry, but I can't change the way I feel about you," he said softly, and once more stood to leave, but was once more surprised when Nasuada grabbed his hand again. "What?" She told him to sit, and he did so. This time, however, Nasuada placed her hands under his chin and lifted it up to meet her gaze. "No," she breathed. "That wasn't what I was going to say. What I was going to say, Murtagh, is that I never thought you felt the same way as I did." He looked up at her, hardly daring to believe, hardly daring to hope. She dropped her hand from his chin and placed them instead around his neck. She leaned in, hardly breathing. She kissed him gently. He closed his eyes, and she did too. She wrapped her arms around his neck more tightly. He put his hands around her waist. She leaned into him. She smiled against his lips. 

Just then there was a loud crunch of iron-shod boots against the ground and who should come inside but Jormundur. He stopped dead at the sight of them. "Am I interrupting something?" he said pointedly. They broke apart and looked around. Nasuada went scarlet, and the back of Murtagh's neck flushed. "J-Jormundur! To what do I owe the pleasure?" she said, trying to ignore the fact that she was beet red. "I merely wanted to tell you that we have our reports back from the scouts in the south. If you are quite finished with your, ah, business, then I shall tell you." If it was possible, Nasuada went an even deeper shade of red. To spare herself the arduousness of having to look at Jormundur in the eyes, she looked at Murtagh instead. His face was slightly red, but he had a look in his eyes that she had never seen before. It was a look of the utmost happiness. For the first time since she met him, he seemed truly happy. He must have seen her looking up at him out of the corner of his eye, because he turned his head and smiled at her. She smiled back, then, (still avoiding Jormundur's gaze) said, "Aye, I think that would be for the best." And so he told her all that had come from the southern front, but Nasuada was only half listening. She was thinking about what had just happened between her and Murtagh. She slipped an arm around him, and felt him do the same to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. At last, when Jormundur had almost finished, she heard something that caught her attention. ". . .the dwarves are near Aberon." She sat up straighter. "What did you say?" 

He frowned. "I said that the dwarves are near Aberon. They still had about five days travel from where the scouts were, apparently," he replied. "And how long ago was this report made?" she asked urgently. His frown deepened. "I don't actually know. Let me check," he answered. Just then, there was the call of a horn, bright and merry like silver bells. Everyone started. Jormundur rushed out of the tent, leaving Murtagh and Nasuada alone again. Nasuada murmured, "Murtagh," and he looked askance at her. "Do you think you could help me into a tunic of sorts? I'm rather sore." And, he obliged, blushing all the while. When he was finished, she smiled at him and kissed him once, gently, on the lips. He smiled back at her. "Now, let's go see what all the hubbub is about, shall we?" she said. He agreed, and together, they exited the tent. At last, they saw what the crowd had gathered for.

The dwarves had arrived.


	7. Chapter VII: Eragon

Eragon stared at the ceiling. What is my purpose? What must I do to have meaning in my life? The atrocities I have committed, the people I have committed them against, they are all weighing me down. I deserve to die for my crimes. He got up from his bed and walked to the door. He paused, indecisive. Where should I go? he wondered. He looked this way and that, but decided against the left, since that was the way to the king's chambers. He walked swiftly and surely, though he had no real purpose. He just thought about whatever came to mind, and was just beginning to feel calmed when he thought of Arya. He thought of her beautiful green eyes filled with confusion at his words. Her drive. Her passion. Her skill. The way she slumped into his arms after he knocked her unconscious. Suddenly he wasn't content or calm anymore.

Eragon, came a sonorous mental voice in his head. He jumped horribly, but allowed the king to enter his mind. I wish to greet our guest, Galbatorix said. After all, what kind of a host would I be if I didn't greet my guests? Now, I want you to come with me to the Hall of the Soothsayer. 

Yes, sir, Eragon replied politely. The king withdrew from his mind, and Eragon was alone with his thoughts again. He scowled. He hated the way Galbatorix swept aside his defenses and his privacy, and invaded his mind as though it were his own personal room. Nevertheless, he turned and began walking the other way. By the time he reached the other end of the hall, he was filled with dread. He didn't want to see Arya's betrayed expression, or her beautiful green orbs filled with shock, betrayal, disappointment, and hatred. He sighed, and walked through the doors that separated the passage from the Hall of the Soothsayer. 

It was very dim. As he walked, the shadows rippled and undulated like water. At last, he reached the king's side and withdrew to the darkest part of the room that he could find. He watched Arya and her expressions as the king talked to her. He saw her horror as she realised where she was. He saw her hatred of the king. At last, as he simply stood in the shadows, watching, the king said, "Don't be so inhospitable, Eragon. Come, introduce yourself to our guest." Hating himself, Eragon walked forward. He forced himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes were full of shock. How could you do this to me? they seemed to ask. Unable to continue looking upon her, he turned away. Instead, he faced the fire and stared into it's ravaging depths. He hated himself and the horrible deeds he had done. He hated the fact that he had to serve this dark lord upon his dark throne. He hated that he had doomed Arya to that same fate. 

He listened as Arya spoke with the king. When at last Arya said, "And what of the dragons? The Eldunari that you have enslaved? You cannot expect me to believe that that was for the good of the many. How is this, this slavery, this forced servitude, helpful or beneficial?", the king was silent for a moment. At last he said, "I think those irons ought to be hot enough now, Eragon. Take one, please." Eragon stiffened. No, he thought desperately. No. I can't cause her any more pain than what she's had already. I can't. I won't. He didn't move. Galbatorix's brows furrowed. "I said, take up an iron, Eragon." Eragon looked at him, and said hoarsely, "No. I won't. You'd have to force me first."

Galbatorix's frown deepened. He said a Word, along with a few others in the ancient language. Eragon stiffened, then, with slow, jerking movements, picked up an iron. He turned to face Arya and the ancient slab of stone she rested upon. He walked slowly towards her. His arms felt heavy. He paused, right beside her head. He looked at the sparkling ruby-red iron. Arya made a little gasping noise. He whipped his head around towards her. She was gazing not at the iron, but at his face. He met her gaze. Arya had not a look of hurt, betrayal, hatred, or shock, but one of affection, sorrow, and . . . gratefulness. He knew he couldn't say anything in front of the king, but he tried to send her a message with his eyes that said, I'm sorry. That was all he could do, for the king snapped, "Eragon! Hurry up!" He jumped. He looked down at her, feeling his guilt and self-loathing nearly incapacitate him. He saw the fear in her eyes. He closed his eyes to her pleading ones. He lowered the iron, hating himself for not fighting more. He heard the scuffle as she tried to move but couldn't because of her restraints. She began to scream, for they had given her nothing to bite on. He heard as the one he cared for most screamed with pain, and listened as they reverberated off the cold stone walls.


	8. Chapter IIX: Arya

Arya woke with a start. She looked around in a panic. Where am I? she thought frantically. She appeared to be in a large stone room that was very gloomy. She breathed deep in an attempt to calm herself. What is the last thing you remember? she asked herself. She thought back. Eragon, she thought. Despite everything he had done to her, she still didn't hate him. She didn't trust him, that was for sure. But . . .she didn't hate him. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't. After seeing the expression on his face, the tears nearly overflowing in his pain-filled eyes as he was forced to hurt her, it just didn't make sense to her to hate him. 

She heard a loud boom and felt panic filling up her chest. No, she thought. Not so soon! A single pair of footfalls echoed throughout the room. She strained her eyes to see who it was. It wasn't her jailer, that was sure, because this man was slimmer than her jailer. Nor was it Galbatorix, for he was less broad. Quickly, she made the decision to close her eyes and pretend she was asleep. The footfalls stopped by her side. Unable to resist the temptation, she opened her eyes to see . . . Eragon. Standing over her, eyes riveted on her face. She gasped.

"E-Er-Eragon," she stammered. "I-I - what-how- how are you even here?" He didn't respond. "E-Eragon," she whispered. "Please- I- talk to me, Eragon. . . . Please. . ."

Eragon watched her for a moment, then hoarsely croaked out, "A-Arya, I-I'm so, so sorry. I- he doesn't give me a choice, I have to do whatever he tells me! Please, please you have to understand that. Please. . ."

When Arya didn't respond, he growled angrily. "If you can't understand that, then . . . then I can't help you or do anything for you," he snarled. With that, he began to walk away. When he was almost to the door, Arya mustered her courage and murmured, "Eragon?"

He stopped immediately and wheeled around. "What?" he said, much more gently than before. "Please," she breathed. "Please, tell me why you did this. Why did you betray us, Eragon? You were one of my closest friends before you left . . ."

He didn't respond for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was even harsher than before. "Arya, you don't understand. The king is . . . horrible. His voice, i-it . . . persuades you or something. I can't describe it. It just makes you want to do anything you can to please him. It's like a spell, or a charm or something. And not just that, he controls . . . me. He controls everything that is me. He's like a puppetmaster, telling me what do to, how to do it, where and when . . . it's horrible, and I hate it. But there isn't anything I can do about it. I am his . . . his forever," his voice had dropped to a whisper by the time he was finished. "If you can't see that, then . . . I'm afraid we must part ways." And with that, he left the room, leaving Arya to ponder her unanswered questions.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, thanks for reading this chapter! I will be updating regularly, or at least as regularly as possible! Just so you know, I AM WORKING ON AN UPDATED CHAPTER FOR TOKKA WEEK 2020! There IS an update coming soon, I promise! However, for now I need to work on this. Anyways, this is cross-posted on Quotev.com if anyone wants to check it out, I also have a few other stories on there as well (although I WILL be posting them on here soon, as well; just so you know, the fandoms are Avatar the Last Airbender, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus, and the Inheritance Cycle.


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